


Proof

by triste



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/M, Genderswap, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-22
Updated: 2012-11-22
Packaged: 2017-11-19 07:00:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/570490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triste/pseuds/triste
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Denmark is oblivious. Sweden is unimpressed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Proof

Title: Proof  
Author: Triste  
Fandom: Hetalia  
Pairing: Sweden/fem!Denmark  
Rating: PG-13  
Status: Complete  
Disclaimer: Not mine

~~

There were times when Denmark could be rather oblivious to what was happening around her. Even worse was her tendency to be more than a little bit dense. It was frustrating to watch no matter how often Sweden witnessed it.

France liked a challenge, and they didn’t come much bigger than Denmark and her inability to read the situation. When he invited her to the bar after the day’s conference, Denmark accepted.

“I’m not having any of your pansy wine,” she warned. “It’s proper beer or nothing at all.”

“Of course,” France said smoothly. The arm he looped around Denmark’s waist was far from subtle, but Denmark surprised him by taking notice. Unfortunately for France, it wasn’t in the way that he wanted.

Grinning like a lunatic, it took Denmark less than a second to slip free from France’s hold and force him into a headlock. She was halfway through giving him a vigorous noogie when she caught sight of Sweden.

“Hey,” she called in greeting, her grin widening. “We were just about to go for a drink. Wanna join us?”

“There’s a saying that applies to this particular scenario,” France spoke up before Sweden could respond. “I believe it would be ‘two’s company, three’s a crowd’.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Denmark, releasing France long enough to slap him on the back and almost send him reeling. “The more the merrier, right? Besides, it’s better to have fun with lots of people.”

France sighed mournfully and threw Sweden a reproachful frown. Sweden ignored it.

“I’ll come,” he said.

Denmark gave him the thumbs-up sign. She didn’t seem aware of France’s disappointment.

As Sweden followed the two of them, he supposed there wasn’t really much for him to worry about. It’s didn’t matter about France having ulterior motives. Denmark held the title for Europe’s heaviest drinker (contended only by Finland) as well as the title for world’s manliest woman (contended only by Hungary). She prided herself on being able to drink anyone under the table. Whatever attempt by France made to get her inebriated would surely be doomed to failure.

Still, it wouldn’t hurt to stick around and monitor the proceedings. Sweden didn’t appreciate the idea of Denmark being alone with France and his horniness even though he could admit that she was more than capable when it came to taking care of herself. It made him feel uneasy, not to mention territorial.

And so, he chose to sit by Denmark’s right while France took the seat to her left. Denmark sat sandwiched in between them, caring only for the bartender and what he had to offer. It didn’t stop France from trying to woo her with compliments.

“Your eyes are so enchanting,” he said, his attention solely on flattering Denmark.

“They are when I do this,” Denmark replied cheerfully, crossing them.

“And your sense of humour is endearing,” France continued.

“Thanks,” said Denmark, downing the rest of her pint and then slamming her empty glass down with a satisfied belch. “Man, that hit the spot,” she told the bartender happily. “Gimme another.”

It would have been nice for her unfeminine behaviour to terrify France into leaving her well alone, but France wasn’t one to admit defeat easily, at least when it came to getting laid. He was too persistent.

If Sweden had been charitable, he would have given France full marks for making such an effort. Most of his comments either sailed straight over Denmark’s handsome head or went ignored altogether.

Undaunted, France soldiered on bravely. He even made physical contact by placing one of his hands over Denmark’s and giving it a small squeeze. Sweden furrowed his brow, unimpressed. Denmark finished her second pint and moved swiftly onto her third.

It annoyed Sweden to see France’s hand sitting so casually atop Denmark’s. It was slightly smaller, he noted, and more elegant. It was also perfectly manicured, unlike Denmark’s bitten-down fingernails (a bad habit she’d never been able to rid herself of).

France’s hands were artist’s hands. Denmark’s hands were warrior’s hands.

Sweden liked to think of himself as being patient. He liked to think of himself as being tolerant. The past was past, and he preferred to avoid conflict instead of using confrontation wherever possible these days. There were only so many things he could put up with, though, and currently, undfallenhet wasn’t one of them.

France’s free arm had strayed back to where it had previously rested around Denmark’s waist before she’d thrown him off, but now he was growing bolder. His fingers were straying dangerously close to Denmark’s ass.

A little harmless flirting Sweden could allow. Groping he would not.

“It’s time to go,” he said, standing up and pulling Denmark with him.

“But I’m not done drinking yet,” Denmark protested.

“And I haven’t finished getting to know our lady friend better,” France pouted.

“We’re leaving,” Sweden said sternly. The glare he sent France challenged him to say something else, but France merely shrugged and gave him a rueful smile in return. His backing off was enough to appease Sweden somewhat, but he still had Denmark to deal with.

Denmark was not best pleased at being parted from the bar, and she made sure everyone knew it as she cursed and grumbled all the way to Sweden’s hotel suite. It was only when the door had closed behind them that she stopped and took a closer look at her companion.

“Are you mad or something?” she asked.

“It’s your fault,” Sweden accused. “You’re an idiot.”

And then, before Denmark could take offence, he kissed her.

It was a brief kiss, more intense than Sweden had intended, but a good outlet for his frustration all the same. He did gentle it a little towards the end, when he felt Denmark gradually yield to him, and he didn’t find himself quite so irritated anymore when he drew back to see Denmark’s confused expression.

“Whoa,” she said, blinking in surprise. “What was that for? I always thought you were gay.”

Trust Denmark to ruin the moment. Strangely enough Sweden wasn’t that bothered by it.

“You really are stupid,” he said, feeling a lot fonder than he actually sounded.

No wonder France’s silver tongue had been so ineffective. Sincerity was what worked best on Denmark, especially if it was of the blunt and to the point kind.

“Okay,” said Denmark, her hands on her hips as she fixed her gaze on Sweden’s. “What’s wrong? Why are you insulting me? Are you picking a fight?”

“Don’t hang out with France anymore,” Sweden told her.

“Why not?” Denmark wanted to know. “He buys me drinks.”

“He makes me jealous,” Sweden said firmly.

Denmark’s eyes widened, her face colouring, unable to give out an immediate response. Then she recovered enough to punch Sweden on the arm and laugh. “See? You *can* tell jokes. I knew you had it in you. You really do have a sense of humour!”

“I’m serious.” And Sweden was. He just had to make Denmark realise.

The second time they kissed Denmark was still slightly hesitant, but curious to see where things were going. Maybe it was because Sweden had never been the type to take the initiative so easily, or maybe because Denmark wasn’t used to not being boisterous and assertive. Whatever the reason, she let Sweden have his way for once.

In one respect, France was right. Denmark could be endearing when she wanted. Then again, she could also be extremely exasperating. She couldn’t even be considered proper wife material, but since Sweden had spent many years under her rule doing all the cleaning and cooking for her, he conceded it didn’t matter. He didn’t mind being the domesticated one. Gender equality was good and fair and, more importantly, it worked.

Denmark certainly appeared to be mulling it over. For her, that was unusual. She lived on instinct and preferred to make snap decisions rather than thinking matters over carefully the way Sweden did.

Her mind made up, Denmark smirked. Her eternal confidence remained unshaken.

“Well, then,” she said, poking Sweden in the cheek (somebody really had to teach her to be more seductive). “Are you going to show me how possessive you can be? I need proof if you want me to believe what you say.”

Sweden gladly obliged.

 

End.


End file.
